


I Want You to Want Me

by sunkelles



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Biting, Cunnilingus, F/M, Imperial AU, Imperial Inquisitors, Inquisitor AU, Inquisitor Cal Kestis, Past Rape, Posessive Behavior, Power Imbalances, The Jedi Diaspora, want to make sure to clarify the rape is not between our leads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25861954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: Trilla Suduri wants something outside of herself to control and maybe something to care about. The budding inquisitor Cal Kestis just wants someone to care that he exists; if it comes in the form of someone wanting to possess him, well, at least that means they want him alive and content. He can’t stop the Empire, so he might as well get something he wants in the process.They stumble into something that looks a little like love.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri | Second Sister
Comments: 5
Kudos: 85





	I Want You to Want Me

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. cheap trick is the perfect band to name a caltrilla fic after because the first word starts with c and the second starts with tr.  
> 2\. this fic came from a place of "but what if cal initiated inquisitor caltrilla because he wants to get some agency back in his life and trilla is very hot and he wants her to top him" and then it just kinda spiraled  
> 3\. the working title of this was "there's only one place this road ever ends up (and i don't wanna die alone)" but i feel like this fic ended up with a tone that was too weirdly upbeat for that? i don't know, it just feels more like a dark eighties high school movie like heathers than a mountain goats song. hence, the upbeat eighties song about cloying desire instead.  
> 4\. there hasn't been an inquisitor au caltrilla fic in a while and i needed my juice so i made it myself :)  
> 5\. warning for power imbalances in a relationship, imperial indoctrination, rape being normalized within an organization, past rape, murder, biting kink, possessive behavior, etc etc etc.

_I want you to want me_   
_I need you to need me_   
_I'd love you to love me_   
_I'm begging you to beg me_

I Want You to Want Me by Cheap Trick

* * *

Trilla doesn’t train newbies. It's one of her rules. She’s not interested in the ways that the others break their new members, preferring the hunt and playing with prey who can still escape to toying with those with no hope for escape. 

Honestly, she knows how inquisitors are made; she doesn’t need to make any herself. It’s just not very appealing to her to watch them scream and cry until they’re built back up into a stronger form. 

So even though Trilla brings the Padawan in, she doesn’t have anything to do with his training. Seventh Sister gets him to open the holocron and give up the names, and then she breaks him down. And of course she breaks him down. They all break eventually. 

  
  


It’s nearly three months after Trilla drags him in that he finally agrees to be one of them. He’s far from done, of course, but he’s agreed to put on imperial black and learn how to be one of them in exchange for getting tortured a little less, getting out of the cell, and getting enough food and water not to feel like he’s moments away from dying. 

Trilla might have felt bad for him, if every single inquisitor didn’t go through the same thing. All things considered, she thinks he’ll live. 

“Your little Padawan’s finally put on the black,” Seven says, sadistic smile gracing her face. Seven says this as if Trilla hasn’t already heard it from Tenth Brother who heard it from Fifth Brother who heard it from Seventh Sister herself. 

“He’s not _my_ Padawan,” Trilla says. She barely tolerates Ninth Sister saying things like that, and she doesn’t hate Nine nearly as much as Seven. 

“That’s good to hear,” Seven says, with that same unhinged smile, “if you were too possessive, you wouldn’t like most of the stuff I’ve done to him.” The implication is disgusting, but not necessarily surprising: Seventh Sister _is_ notorious for raping recruits. 

“I wouldn’t think that he does, either,” Trilla says, smirking. Baby inquisitors are supposed to fight off their handlers- encouraged to, even. Seven has more than one scar left by a recruit that got some of their anger out before they were properly initiated into the hierarchy and told there was nothing more they could do to their attackers. 

At least, nothing that the higher-ups can prove. There used to be a Fourth Brother who raped his recruits, and he ended up dead on a mission with one of them. The recruit said that the Jedi they were hunting down got to him before she could strike the target down, but everyone knows that’s a lie.

Trilla doesn’t know why Seven doesn't get that what she does is dangerous. Inquisitors keep grudges, and Trilla’s always glad not to be the one with a target on her back. The hunter who dragged them in ranks lower on the shit list than the rapist. 

“He’s started fighting me off,” Seven says, pouting, “It’s a little sad. I miss playing with him.” 

“If you can’t beat a half-baked recruit,” Trilla says, smiling with teeth, “then you have some real worries. Once you turn your back, there’ll be a knife in it.” Seven tilts her head and smiles back, just as feral. 

“Are you threatening me, Sister?” Trilla laughs, and gently brings a hand up to the corner of her jaw. She tilts her own head onto it in response. 

“Oh no, Seven,” she says, “if I were threatening you, you’d know.” She’s just mentioning the ax hanging over Seven’s head, but if the other woman’s too dense to notice it, Trilla’s not going to draw any more attention to it. Maybe the Padawan will finally be the one to bring that ax down on her neck.

  
  
  


Trilla knows that the Padawan is making progress with his training when Seventh Sister asks for all the inquisitors to gather. They’re allowed to challenge each other, the recruits throwing themselves into fights they’re not prepared for and cocky inquisitors challenging them to prove to themselves that they’re better than someone with far less training. It’s a ritual that they’ve had since Trilla went through inquisitor training herself, and she can’t say the memories are fond. 

It’s supposed to teach humility- that there’s still so many members of the organization that can destroy the recruit in moments. It’s an exercise in frustration for all involved. Every other inquisitor in the room has challenged the baby to a duel. He only beats the newest member, Eleventh Brother. Every other inquisitor, from Tenth Brother to Third Sister has him pinned on the ground in less than a minute. 

Trilla doesn’t even bother to challenge him. While she might be a “regular” inquisitor, she’s still only second to the Grand Inquisitor. She’s not going to bother fighting the Jedi until his irises have fully yellowed. Trilla hasn't gotten a good luck at his eyes, but she doesn't even think that the yellow flecks have started yet. He's far from ready to join them.

The Padawan only manages to beat the worst duelist, which doesn't surprise her when he spends the entirety of each match with his eyes locked on her and not his opponents. Even as the room clears out as the inquisitors grow bored of beating him time after time and frustrated by each others’ company, the Padawan stays. He stays as the last inquisitor other than her exits. 

He just stands in the corner, eyeing her.

Trilla’s had quite enough. She crosses her arms over her chest and stalks across the room. Then, she plants herself beside the Jedi, sending him a scathing look. He does not wither. 

“Why do you keep staring at me?” Trilla demands. Instead of cowering, he just smiles. 

“Why are _you_ watching close enough to notice that?”

“With your failure on full display, what else would I be watching, Padawan?” 

He smiles a little sadly, and says, “I’m not much of a Padawan now, am I?” Trilla finds herself smiling at the admission. He passed the first milestone when he agreed to become an inquisitor, but hearing him distance himself from the Jedi is a great sign. 

“No,” she says, “you aren’t. But that still doesn’t explain why you’ve been staring at me.” Trilla has reason to be staring at him, but she can’t think of a single reason he should be staring at _her._ He runs his hand through his hair from the back to the front, and brings it through to his ear. He starts fiddling softly with the lobe. 

“I just expected that you’d want to fight me, okay?” he says. 

“Why _would_ I want to fight you,” she says, “it’s not as though you’d present a challenge.” 

“Don’t you like winning?” he asks. His eyes are wide- pleading almost. Then, it clicks in her brain.

“You _want_ me to beat you?” she asks, taking a step forward to loom directly over him. Those few extra inches of height are serving her well at the moment. 

“No,” he says, but the bright red blush on his face tells a different story. 

“You _like_ me _”_ she croons, cackling at the end in delight. He flushes bright red in embarrassment. 

“No, I just-” he bites his lip again, and turns his head away. She grabs him by the chin and forces his head up to face her. His eyes meet hers, and she realizes she’s never seen what color his eyes are. They’re still a bright shade of blue. It’s almost a pity they’ll turn yellow soon. 

“You just,” she prompts, with a teasing tone with a knife-sharp edge. 

“You spent weeks hunting me down,” he says, “I thought you might be glad you caught me.” The bright red doesn’t lessen as he looks down in embarrassment. 

“You want my attention,” Trilla says. He doesn’t look up, and instead bites his lip. 

“I didn’t expect you to care about me,” he says, “but. I thought that you wanted something from me.” She digs her fingernails into the soft skin under his chin. He gets the hint and looks up at her as she speaks to him.

“Is that what you want, Padawan?” she asks, digging her fingers in, “for me to want you?” He looks down at her lips before his eyes jerk back down to the ground. 

“You do,” she crows, “you want me to pin you down and take you, don’t you?” The Padawan’s breath catches in his throat, and he doesn’t try to squirm out of her grasp. Instead, he looks up to meet her eyes. He laughs, awkward smile gracing his face. Then he looks cautiously up and meets her eyes. 

“Is there something wrong with that?” he asks with a tiny, teasing smirk. 

“Who says I want _you_?” she asks, gripping his jaw tightly. She digs her fingernails into the soft skin below his neck, just a pin-prick from piercing through it. 

“No, one,” he says, shaking his head nervously, “It’s just-” He bites his lip. 

“Well,” Trilla prompts, “spit it out.” 

“I don’t know how to say this without pissing you off."

“Then just say it. I’m sure I’ll find it entertaining, at least.” If there’s one thing to be said of the former Jedi, it’s that he never ceases to entertain. 

“I just,” he says, “I thought I might end up getting something out of becoming this.” Trilla drops her hold of his chin, and pushes him forward. His back hits the wall.

“And what exactly did you think that you would get?” 

“To be yours?” he asks cautiously, and Trilla hopes that he doesn’t notice the way those words affect her, “because I’m yours, if you want me.” It takes a moment for the euphoria of that to wear off enough for her to form a coherent thought. What a tantalizing idea- an enthusiastic subordinate. Someone to control, and to own, and to hold so tightly that he can never get away. 

Trilla can’t pretend she doesn’t like the idea of that. 

“And what if I don’t want you?” she says, just to watch him squirm. 

“Then I’m the Empire’s.” Trilla watches his eyes, and sees yellow flecks appear. He might say that he'll be alright if she rejects him, but the shift in his eyes is visible truth that's not true. The dark side is creeping in around him, and it's only a matter of time before it takes him.

“Not Seven’s?” she asks. 

“ _Never_ Seven’s,” he says, clearly disgusted by the idea. Trilla has to resist the urge to smile. 

“Good answer.” Then, she leans down for a kiss. She pushes him as hard as she can into the wall, and pushes into a kiss. He pushes right back. 

  
  


There are plenty of walls in the Fortress Inquisitorius for Trilla to shove her Padawan against. He's always delightfully pliant, yellow splotches appearing in his eyes the moment he sends her a lustful look. The noises he makes, the way he whimpers her name against the side of her neck when he’s so close to the edge- it’s a type of power she didn’t know she wanted. 

A type of power she didn’t even have to _take_. 

As much as Trilla enjoys keeping tabs on her Padawan, she can’t keep her eyes on him at all times. His eyes have only started to fleck with yellow, which means he might be months from receiving his designation and fully joining their ranks, and he still has training to do. Fortunately, most of that is spent with Nine. While Seven is adept at breaking, Nine is one of the best in the organization at teaching someone how to go on once they’ve broken. Nine's gotten so comfortable in her life as an inquisitor that she teases _Lord Vader_ , after all. And for some reason, she’s the only one of them who has the patience to teach recruits new lightsaber forms and work with them in ways that don’t leave them with fresh saber burns all over their backs. 

The point is, Seventh Sister really should no longer have any influence over his training. So Trilla isn’t exactly pleased when she stumbles across Seventh Sister taunting him in the training room, letting her lightsaber spin wildly in his direction. 

“Go ahead and fight your heart out, pup,” Seventh Sister says, “you’re not gonna wi-in.” The Padawan retracts his saber as not to make contact with the spinning saber and lose his own. His eyes turn bright yellow for a moment as he grabs her wrist, grasping it tightly in his hand as the veins in his neck pop. 

“Stop that,” he hisses. Seven grins as she rips out of his hold. She sheathes her own saber, holstering it on her hip. 

“Feisty,” she says, grabbing the Padawan’s wrists and forcing them over his head. She takes a few steps forward, shoving him against the wall.

“Will you be that feisty all night?” she drawls. Trilla feels her anger spike, and decides that she’s watched enough of this. She stomps over to the two of them with a purpose, grabbing at the back of Seven’s neck. Then, she slams her onto the ground. In a smooth motion, Trilla slams her boot down on the woman’s chest. 

“Ooo,” Seven says, smiling up at Trilla as if she’s not bearing down on her ribcage, “did I strike a nerve?” Trilla glares down at her and doesn't grace that with a response.

"Come here, Padawan," Trilla calls. A flush of pleasure comes over her as her Padawan comes the moment that she calls him. He’s smirking widely. 

“Do you see that bite mark?” she asks, eyes glancing to the vivid bite on her Padawan’s neck. Seven’s eyes dart to the spot, and the Padawan smirks at her. As a Mirialan, the color doesn’t drain from her face, but Trilla can see the smirk wipe right off. 

“That’s mine. He’s mine now, _Seventh_ Sister,” Trilla says, throwing the other woman’s lower rank right in her face. Trilla digs her foot in harder, and Seven actually lets out a groan as she tries to squirm away. Trilla doesn’t let her. 

“Soon enough,” Trilla says, “he’ll be able to kill you all on his own. And I can’t wait to watch.” She removes the foot from Seventh Sister’s chest, and stands up straight, looking down at her “rival” like the remains of a bug on her shoe. Seven opens her mouth, but glances over to the Padawan. Her eyes widen as they settle on him. 

“Hating me sent him over the edge, it looks like,” she says, but the smirk on her face looks forced. She’s not so confident anymore. Trilla looks over at her Padawan, and sees that his eyes have turned bright yellow.

  
  
  


Trilla expects the yellow to bleed back out, but aside from a few flecks of blue that drift in and out in the next few days there is no change. The yellow does not abate. She misses that deep blue, but she knows it's a good sign. The dark side will need to overtake him before he's willing to fully join their ranks, after all. A light sider would not be able to stomach the initiation ritual.

Recruits are required to commit a murder in cold blood, and then they are fully initiated into the organization. Now that her Padawan’s eyes have turned a stunning, sith shade of yellow, she knows it’s only a matter of time. Either he’ll choose a target, or one of the others will choose one for him. She’s interested in seeing who sends him over the edge, but she’s not going to pry. She’s not _that_ interested when she can wrap her arms around him instead. He works well as a space heater.

He squirms in her arms, and Trilla digs her nails in a little. 

“Stop moving, Padawan,” she orders. Instead of stopping, he flips his body around so that he’s facing her. Trilla doesn’t let go, and almost starts to threaten. 

“I’m not a Padawan anymore,” he says. He doesn’t sound sad about it anymore, not even resigned. He sounds like he’s talking about vaguely pleasant weather- just reciting a fact that couldn’t be changed if he wanted to. 

Trilla just rolls her eyes at him. They both know that’s not why she calls him that. 

“I just thought you might want to call me something else,” he says. 

“What would I call you, then? Jedi?” That one’s not anymore accurate than Padawan. He shakes his head. 

“Inquisitor?” she asks. That one’s getting warmer, but there’s no interest there- no flirting with power dynamics, certainly no leverage. 

“No,” he says evenly.

_Oh._

He wants her to call him something saccharine, or maybe something filthy. 

“You’re just fishing for a pet name, Kestis,” she says. He stiffens in her arms, and doesn’t respond with some flirty come back or a face turned bright red with embarrassed pleasure. Trilla isn’t sure what his problem is. 

“What is it?” she demands. 

“Kestis,” he says, body stiff as a board, “what is that?” Trilla digs her fingernails in deeper, irritated by whatever game he’s playing. 

“There’s no one else here,” she says, “don’t pretend you don’t know your own name.” She doesn’t want to play games when they could be sleeping. 

“They made us forget,” he whispers, and he sounds sincere about it. It almost stops her breath, to realize the truth of it. She always thought that the younger inquisitors were pretending not to know their names. It seems they were actually able to torture that out of the younger recruits, once they decided it should be a requirement. 

Trilla isn’t soft by nature, but she takes her fingernails out of his flesh, and lets the pads of her fingers settle on his arms instead. 

“Is that the first one?” he asks, and she knows he's asking if it's his first name. She considers lying for a moment. Coming up with a fake name, curated to her tastes. If he’s telling the truth, then he won’t know the difference and will accept her offering gladly. If he’s not telling the truth, then she just gets to turn around and punish him for lying to her. 

But. It doesn’t feel like he’s lying, and maybe there’s part of her that feels like his name is the right one for him. 

“The last,” she says, “your name is Cal Kestis.” His yellow eyes light up as he smile, and blue speckles flicker in. They flicker out as soon as they came, and the smile dies away too. 

“I can’t use it, though,” he says. The weight of a great, forbidden knowledge seems to settle on his shoulder. Trilla wraps her arms back around him, and drags him close to her body. She holds him tightly, letting her chest rise and fall against his back. 

“But I can,” she tells him, kissing at the side of his neck where she always leaves her bite marks, “because you’re _mine_.” She nips at it, then bites down, and he gasps. 

“Trilla-” he begs, because she’s the only one who can make him beg like that, make him feel that good, the only one who knows his name. Because it’s hers just like he is- down to the stardust in his bones. 

Despite her confidence in her battling prowess, Trilla is a jealous person by nature. She's a little bit paranoid, a little slow to trust, and more than a little bit possessive. Those traits helped her in her turn to the dark side, but they make dealing with the Seventh Sister a chore. Anger rises in her whenever she sees the other woman. Apparently, Seventh Sister can feel it. The Mirialan turns around to face her, sending her a look of irritation.

“I’ve left your little boy toy alone,” Seven says, “why are you still so mad at me?” Trilla could cite a few thousand grievances over the course of the years. 

Instead, she says, “Maybe I just don’t like you.” This isn’t even a lie. Trilla has never liked Seventh Sister once in her life. Seven wraps her right arm around the middle of her chest, and then sets her left elbow on her wrist. She lets her hand come up to her face, and traces a teasing pinkie finger at the space under her bottom lip. 

“I’d think that you’d appreciate what I’ve done for you,” Seven says, moving her hand to her rub at her shoulder instead. 

“And what have you done for me,” Trilla asks. She makes it a sarcastic question, because if she treated it literally she would have Seven pinned to the wall with her saber to the woman’s neck. 

“Do you really think he’d have thrown himself at you if he didn’t need a guard dog?” Seven says, chuckling. She smiles widely, and her eyes close a little, like a menacing little snake. 

“That’s not true,” Trilla says. She intends for it to come out scoffing, but it doesn’t. It comes out small, and a little desperate. Cal didn't just seek her out to fight off Seventh Sister, right? Seven’s entire posture shifts, and she stands stick straight, looking ahead with a purpose. 

“Search your feelings,” Seven says, using her best approximation of Lord Vader’s voice, “you know it to be true.” Trilla feels her rage build, and she reaches out a hand to force choke her. Seventh Sister just starts laughing.

"Do you really think that will make him care for you?" Seven taunts. She wants nothing more than to squeeze, and then watch Seven writhe in pain until she's dead. But she knows that if she started choking the other woman, she wouldn't be able to stop. Murdering Seven would incite the wrath of the organization, which is something that she can't have. So she doesn’t even try to choke her. Trilla forces her hand to her side, and glares at the inquisitor as she stomps out of the room. 

Seventh Sister has the gall to wave at her as she exits. 

It's not hard to track down Cal, knowing his haunts as well as she does. He's sitting in the communal training area, looking at the specs of some planet on the holopad. She just sees the back of his head and the expanse of the planet because he's not turned to face her. She stands behind him, waiting for him to notice her.

“Trilla?” he asks, flipping the pad off. He turns around immediately, a look of dread on his face. He certainly felt the anger written in her force presence before he turned around, but now he can see her anger written on her face.

“Did you just… seduce me to get me to fight Seventh Sister off for you?” Trilla snarls. 

“Trilla-” Her anger builds, and she’s sure that the way that it's radiating off of her must make it hard for him to breath. He doesn’t flinch, but he _should._

“You will address me as Second Sister,” she hisses. 

“Second Sister,” he corrects, eyes nearly rolling back into his head. He doesn’t continue. 

“Well?” she demands. He sighs. 

“No, I didn’t do that,” he says. He doesn't seem scared, but sad almost- disappointed that she’s even asking. His force signature doesn’t feel like he’s lying. 

"Then why?" she asks.

“I just wanted to be _wanted._ ” Desire and desperation flicker in his yellow eyes. 

“But why me?” Trilla will not let herself be duped by a Padawan with a pretty smile and pretty words. 

“Because I know you. I _like_ you.” It sounds sincere, but Trilla can’t know for sure. Sincerity can be faked when there’s something to gain. 

“Or do you just like my protection?” she sneers. Her protection only comes because she gets something from him, and if his end of the deal isn’t being met. Well. It doesn’t matter how possessive she is; she will leave him for the loth-wolves to rip apart. 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” he says. There's a but there, she can feel it in the force.

"But?" He bites his lip.

"I do like it when you do," he says, shrugging, "it's really hot." He smiles then, softly. The earnestness of it all comes over her. She doesn't think that's the reason he's here, even though it is a perk.

“Fine,” she says, and she refuses to acknowledge how that smile feels like the soft warmth of sunlight settling in her chest. It might be manipulation, still, to get protection from Seven. But if he keeps submitting to her, maybe she can keep protecting him, even if it’s a little insincere. 

She likes him because he submits to her, after all, nothing more and nothing less. She treasures him as a Hutt treasures a particularly beautiful slave. There’s nothing soft or warm about it. She doesn’t _need_ him to actually like her. Maybe it’s safer if he doesn’t. 

It's only two days later when everything changes. Trilla hears about it from Ninth Sister before she hears about it from Cal. 

“You’ll be glad to hear your Padawan’s going to be one of us,” Nine says. Trilla's not surprised, exactly. Cal becoming a full-blown inquisitor has been coming for a long time. She just doesn't know who died to make it happen.

“Who did he kill?” she asks. Nine smirks. 

“Wouldn’t you rather ask _him_ that?” she says. Trilla nods, because yes, she would. Then, she doesn't even say goodbye as she leaves. Nine just laughs, though, so she's probably not mad. Not that Trilla would care if she was.

When she finds him, she just asks, "who?"

“Seventh Sister,” he says, eyes crinkling with the smile. When Seven did that, it made her look like a snake, but when he does it- he looks like a mischievous loth-kitten. A mischievous loth-kitten who just caught his prey, apparently. 

There are still blood stains on his hands, and Trilla glances over his face. There are splatters coming up his neck as well, with little bits of his hair that are even darker than normal. Seven _is_ dead, alright, and it was brutally done. Messily done. Trilla wants to grin, but she wants him to explain himself first. 

“Why did you choose her?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. She tries not to look as impressed as she is.

“I wanted her dead,” he says, “and _you_ wanted her dead. Seemed like a logical choice.” Trilla tries not to show too much pleasure that her desire for Seventh Sister’s death had factored into his decision. 

“Now you know I’m not just here for protection,” he says. She does know that. If anything could prove it, this is it. Now he’s an inquisitor in his own right who rid himself of his tormentor. If he didn’t want to be chasing her favor, he wouldn’t be. 

“I’m yours,” he says, looking at her with something like worship in his eyes. It goes straight to her crotch, and she feels moist almost instantly.

“Then prove it,” she challenges, words coming out breathless. He smiles for a second, then drops to his knees, hair falling into his face. He keeps his eyes downcast as he starts to work on her zipper, and Trilla shifts her knees, letting her wet folds rub together. 

God, she wants to buck against him, but she refrains. His tongue will be in there soon enough. 

She grabs his head, twisting her fingers in his hair. He gasps as she rips his head up to get a better look at his neck, still marked by the bites she’s left- the ones showing her ownership. Trilla shoves his head down into her, and lets his tongue take over as she grasps his hair tightly. She bucks against him, forcing his tongue more deeply into the crevices. Then, he reaches his fingers up, and starts to move them along as he fucks her with his mouth.

She looks down at him, her mark on his neck and his knees on the ground as he tongue-fucks her, and she lets out a moan. It’s so good to have him on his knees like this, proving he knows who he belongs to. 

  
  
  


Initiation is never much of a ceremony, but it’s important for morale. Everyone needs to feel like they're apart of something, even if none of them believe it's something all that good. At least it gives them an air of status. Trilla clings to all the trappings of glory she can milk out of this arrangement, so she enjoys the pomp and circumstance of it all.

It always goes the same. All of the inquisitors are required to be there in full uniform as the new inquisitor dons their own for the first time. All of the current inquisitors stand in two lines, six feet apart. As the Second Sister, Trilla stands to the Grand Inquisitor’s right, across from the Third Sister. It goes down the line, Trilla beside the Fourth Sister, across from Fifth Brother, Sixth Sister across from Eighth Brother, Ninth Sister across from Tenth Brother, and the poor Eleventh Brother is stuck at the end all alone. 

The line worked a bit better before Seventh Sister died, but it’s no big deal. For the next initiation, Cal will fill in that slot. He’s a better fit anyway. 

Cal stands in the middle of Trilla and the Third Brother, right across from the Grand Inquisitor. Cal kneels, and the Grand Inquisitor starts going on with the same speech he gives about the importance of service to the Empire. Then, he asks if Cal will swear himself to the Empire.

"I do," Cal says, just as the script requires. The Grand Inquisitor reaches out with his lightsaber, in a brutal mockery of the Jedi knighting gesture. He taps Cal on the shoulder. Then, he holsters the lightsaber. He smiles, showing off his mouthful of sharp teeth.

“Rise, Twelfth Brother,” the Grand Inquisitor says, “Welcome to the Inquisitorious.” 

Then comes the brief reception with free booze. It’s not exactly high quality, but it’s the only time that the organization provides them with alcohol that doesn’t come out of their stipends. Exactly none of the inquisitors are going to turn that down. The seasoned inquisitors enter the room first, and then Cal comes through. They're not a boisterous bunch, but Ninth Sister leads through a round of applause. She even puts in a few hoots and hollers as she makes her way over to him.

Ninth Sister claps a hand on the new Twelfth Brother's shoulder in that sort of military camaraderie that she’s known for. 

"So, Twelve," she says, "finally figured out that you can’t stop the Empire?” He smiles sheepishly up at her.

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?” he says. Trilla snorts. Only Cal could end up at the other end of months of torture and talk about it quite so casually. Glimmers of hope even in the greatest darkness, she supposes. 

“No one much liked Seven anyway,” Nine says, then her face contorts in a frown, “except Five, sometimes. I might watch my back for him, if I were you.” Cal grimaces, but nods. Never one to bring down the mood for too long, Nine slaps him on the back, pushing him in Trilla's direction.

“Go catch up with Two,” she tells him, _pointing at her_ , “she hasn’t taken her eyes off us the whole time.” Cal blushes, and nods at her. Then he makes his way back over to Trilla, right where he belongs. 

“Did Nine welcome you into the fold?” she asks. She might have heard every word, but Cal doesn’t know that having heightened senses is her force specialty.

“I’m kind of surprised Ninth Sister was so nice,” he says, “she was never that nice before-" which must be a surprise, since Cal is familiar with both "inquisitor fighting a Jedi" Ninth Sister and "training specialist" Ninth Sister "-she seems really different now.” 

“Today you met off duty Ninth Sister,” she says, “it’s quite different than on duty Ninth Sister.” Even on duty Nine only comes out when there’s a Jedi in sight or a newbie to train. Most of the time, she’s as casual as the job allows. She’s the only member of the organization who will mouth off to _Lord Vader._

Trilla doesn’t always appreciate Nine's disregard for protocol, but there is something disarming about the woman. She’s likeable, even in a job that’s supposed to bleed that out of its workers. If Trilla ever needed to kill the Ninth Sister, she’d even feel a little bad about it. She’d probably even miss her a bit. 

“Yeah,” he says, gesturing down at his full inquisitor armor, “looks like you’re stuck with me, now.” Trilla should punish him for the tone, or for the smirk- but she finds that she does like it when he gets cheeky with her. It makes when he fully submits to her feel more earned. 

“I suppose I am,” she says, “you’ll just have to be mine.”

“Yours,” Cal promises. She smirks at him, and finds herself thinking about the future. His future. She has big plans for the former Padawan.

When he’s spent a few months in the organization, he’ll be able to challenge his way through the ranks. Trilla has confidence that they can get him up to at _least_ Seventh Brother within a few months. It would be only fitting to replace the person he killed to get here. 

She just knows one thing: he cannot remain at Twelve forever. Trilla can’t exactly have her second-in-command stay that low in the hierarchy forever. A consort to a queen needs to walk only a few steps behind her, after all. 


End file.
